02-08-2021, 03:35 PM
At the top of the world, time stands still. It is upon mountains that legends are born. When the mountains crumble into dust over eons and epochs, all that remains is their stardust, sweeping across the sands of deserts and at the seat of the oceans. It is from this dust that earth is created.
The cycle has expanded beyond what any creature can recall. Even the trees that have lasted centuries cannot remember, for their time stands still but not quite still enough. Perhaps, though, the fungal colonies that have spread to recycle such forests remember. Perhaps it is they, and rocks at the top of the mountain, that see all for what it really is.
When a thing stays present for long enough, it appears present for no time at all to those with the shortest cycles. It was man who had once placed a river rock at the top of the mountain. To a river rock, the occurrence was a blip in reality. One moment it is beneath the river, and the next it is curbing the chill wind whipping across the peaks. The purpose of this movement is lost to the ages. Perhaps a loved one had died, and a rock was placed to mark the position of the sky burial. Perhaps the rock was placed as a signal to all who came before that man had found a way to climb and conquer the mountain, for it was once obvious that a river rock did not belong at the top of the mountain.
Generations of living things had passed. The river rock had become lodged in ice and snow, until a storm in the early year uncovered a single underlying layer of snow.
The avalanche that resulted might have caused the deaths of dozens of animals, but it was the foreign rock in the center of it that saw the worst of it. The rock slammed into the head of some creature, and upon it old blood dried and froze to the surface.
It was a grassy knoll the rock remained upon for a week. The blood looked as little more than a brown stain, but a creature with a decent nose might have been able to surmise the source. The thread of time continued, and for the rock, it normal status of speeding through space halted to a standstill. A squirrel alarm called in the distance. The rock, as expected, did not move.
The cycle has expanded beyond what any creature can recall. Even the trees that have lasted centuries cannot remember, for their time stands still but not quite still enough. Perhaps, though, the fungal colonies that have spread to recycle such forests remember. Perhaps it is they, and rocks at the top of the mountain, that see all for what it really is.
When a thing stays present for long enough, it appears present for no time at all to those with the shortest cycles. It was man who had once placed a river rock at the top of the mountain. To a river rock, the occurrence was a blip in reality. One moment it is beneath the river, and the next it is curbing the chill wind whipping across the peaks. The purpose of this movement is lost to the ages. Perhaps a loved one had died, and a rock was placed to mark the position of the sky burial. Perhaps the rock was placed as a signal to all who came before that man had found a way to climb and conquer the mountain, for it was once obvious that a river rock did not belong at the top of the mountain.
Generations of living things had passed. The river rock had become lodged in ice and snow, until a storm in the early year uncovered a single underlying layer of snow.
The avalanche that resulted might have caused the deaths of dozens of animals, but it was the foreign rock in the center of it that saw the worst of it. The rock slammed into the head of some creature, and upon it old blood dried and froze to the surface.
It was a grassy knoll the rock remained upon for a week. The blood looked as little more than a brown stain, but a creature with a decent nose might have been able to surmise the source. The thread of time continued, and for the rock, it normal status of speeding through space halted to a standstill. A squirrel alarm called in the distance. The rock, as expected, did not move.
the staff team luvs u
